The Single Life with Zola Patterson Part 2 - Danielle Allen Page 0,18

I checked the time.

“Can I see you tomorrow? Take you for a late lunch? Tell you about the lecture?”

“I don’t have any plans tomorrow afternoon. Let’s talk in the morning and finalize things.”

“Yeah, I’ll call you first thing in the morning,” he promised.

The knock on the door distracted me.

“Okay, sounds good. But I have to go, so I’ll talk to you later.”

“Talk to you real soon, Zola.”

We said our goodbyes and I scurried to the door and swung it open.

“Wow,” Saint breathed when he laid eyes on me.

The olive-green military style dress with the gold buttons was both casual and sexy when paired with black and gold combat boots. I had no idea where we were going, but I didn’t dress for the place. I dressed for Saint’s reaction.

“Hi,” I greeted him coyly like I wasn’t basking in his gaze.

“Hey.” Leaning down tentatively, he planted a soft kiss on my lips. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” I closed the door behind us. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

I tried to guess where we would be going, but he just laughed at me. Our conversation was so entertaining that I didn’t realize where we were in D.C. Saint had parked on a block with a bunch of different restaurants, so I kept my head on a swivel as we walked down the street. When I felt his hand on the small of my back, I slowed to a stop.

“We are going to get a few things for that empty ass bookshelf in your office,” he joked.

“What?” I gasped, looking up at the two-story bookstore in front of us. “Is this where we’re going for real?”

He nodded. “I know you can’t read—”

“Shut up,” I giggled, swatting at his arm. “This is amazing.”

With a grin, he grabbed the handle and opened the door for me. “After you.”

We spent three hours walking through the bookstore, discussing titles, and storylines. We had a different conversation in every aisle, and I loved every second of it. We agreed on a lot, but some of my favorite discussions happened on the aisles that we didn’t agree. Even when his point of view differed from mine, it still fascinated me. When we left the bookstore, he had a bag of books. Some for him; some for me.

After he navigated to the highway for the drive back to Richland, Saint glanced over at me. “Now there are two options for the next part of the date. Either option is a good one so don’t feel any pressure to pick one over the other,” he prefaced.

“Spit it out,” I teased, reaching over and rubbing his arm.

He chuckled under his breath. “Option A is for me to cook dinner for us and Option B—”

“Option A,” I interrupted without hesitation.

“You don’t even know what Option B is.”

“It doesn’t matter.” I let my hand coast down his arm. “I want to go back to your place.”

He licked his lips. “Do you even want to know what I plan to make?”

“Saint.” I waited until he glanced over at me again. “It doesn’t matter.”

He intertwined his fingers with mine as he stepped on the gas.

We made it back to Richland in record time.

Birchwood Manor, I thought as we pulled into the gated community of one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in Richland. Nice.

The sidewalks were lined with trees that were a mixture of golden, red, orange, and green. The lawns were perfectly manicured. I didn’t see one nosey neighbor loitering on the porch as we walked up to his condo.

“This is nice,” I complimented Saint as I entered his space.

It looked nice. It smelled nice. And once I stepped all the way inside, it felt nice.

“Oh wow, Saint. This place is gorgeous,” I gushed as I walked into the living room. The art on the walls, the massive bookshelf, and the TV mounted over a fireplace gave the room life.

“Thank you.” He grabbed my hand. “Let me give you a quick tour.”

We walked through the three-bedroom condo and I was in awe of the unique beauty of everything. The place was spotless, but it still looked lived in. It was masculine, but it still was so beautiful.

“I’m impressed, Saint Anderson,” I told him as we ended the tour in the kitchen. I let go of his hand and walked around the small island in the middle of the blue and white kitchen. My fingers slid across the granite countertops. “You have impeccable taste.”

He looked me up and down. “That is an understatement.”

I bit my